Of their arrangement, Dwina said: “Robin doesn’t tie me down. He says, ‘Go ahead, do what you want to do, go where you want to go.’” “It turns me on to see her in bed with other girls,” Robin said. “I’m allowed to watch and join in as well. I was thinking as I lay in bed last night with my wife and her lover either side of me, that I’m getting thoroughly spoiled.”{654}
Time passes differently when one is married to a Druid priestess, and by all accounts, Robin spent much of the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s enjoying the comfort of his family, the comfort of others, and learning that some things are better left unsaid. He appeared in the papers again in 1997, when the British government, at the conclusion of an investigation of music stars who weren’t paying taxes on their royalties, forced the Bee Gees to pay £3 million in a settlement. Robin had to pay the most—£1.8 million. Regardless of the size of the settlement, Robin’s quality of life did not seem to suffer.
The year 2009 marked the fiftieth anniversary of the formation of the Bee Gees. To celebrate the occasion, Barry and Robin began performing under the Bee Gees’ moniker, despite retiring the name upon Maurice’s death. Among other events, they appeared on Dancing with the Stars and American Idol. Robin hinted at a reconciliation tour with his brother, but no concerts were ever booked.
On November 4, 2009, Dwina and Robin’s housekeeper, Claire Yang, thirty-three, gave birth to her and Robin’s daughter, Snow Robin. “At first Dwina was happy for Robin to sow his oats because it allowed her to stay committed to her Brahman beliefs,” said a family friend (Dwina had converted to the Brahman religion, which called for sexual abstinence), “but she never expected him to actually plant his seed, as it were. When the truth came out, Dwina was furious. To say she hit the roof is an understatement. She felt betrayed.”{655} Snow Robin’s birth certificate listed Robin, “professional musician,” as the father. Robin installed Claire and Snow Robin in a nearby farm, hired Claire a nanny and was a frequent visitor.{656}
On March 19, 2012, Robin released The Titanic Requiem, which he composed and executed with his son. “It has been an incredible experience working with my son RJ,” Robin said. “There is a creative freedom and uninhibited state that comes from working with a family member. Working on this album and with RJ has been a driving force, and one that has helped me on the road to recovery.”{657} Robin had been looking increasingly skeletal, and rumors abounded about his ill health.
“I get annoyed with false stories about me,” he said, “because I feel great and I look forward to the future. Recent months have been a testing time. I’ve had a scare. But now I’m happy to say I’m nearly better. For more than 18 months, I lived with an inflammation of the colon. Then I was diagnosed with colon cancer, which spread to the liver. It’s taken a toll, naturally. I have undergone chemotherapy, however, and the results, to quote my doctor, have been ‘spectacular.’”{658}
“The prognosis is that it’s almost gone and I feel fantastic and really from now on it’s just what they could describe as a mopping up operation,” he told the New Musical Express. “I feel better than I did 10 years ago. I’m active, my appetite’s fantastic, the plumbing is all in perfect working order. If I had a choice about how I’d like to feel for the rest of my life, this would be it. If I wanted to tick all the right boxes about my sense of well being, it would be now. This is the way I’d like to feel. I don’t know how I could feel any better.”{659}
Robin spoke of Maurice’s last days: “Maurice was in hospital for just three days. I flew to Miami to see him and he was in a coma. They told Barry and I that, if Maurice didn’t have any brain activity within ten minutes, he would die then and there. To our horror, we found out there was none. And Maurice died. How did I get over Maurice’s death? I didn’t. And I never will. I just don’t accept it. I tell myself he’s away on a long holiday and that we’ll be seeing each other again soon. I sometimes wonder if all the tragedies my family has suffered, like Andy and Maurice dying so young and everything that’s happened to me recently, is a kind of karmic price we are paying for all the fame and fortune we’ve had. However, I’m truly grateful that working on The Titanic Requiem distracted me from my illness to such a degree that I truly believe it might have saved my life.”{660}
Despite his protestations, Robin’s condition was worsening. In March he had surgery to remove a blood clot. After his surgery, Robin spoke of wanting to get back together with Barry. “My next main priority is to work with Barry,” he said. “I’d love to make an album with him. He has expressed an interest and I want to hold him to that.” Robin discussed his terror over his physical condition. “I can’t deny there was a point when I was scared it was the end,” Robin said.{661} “I found the whole experience had a much more profound effect on me emotionally than it did physically. I went into a deep depression, and there were many times I was reduced to tears. But I’m over that now and my sense of well-being has returned.”{662} He told Robin-John that he was in remission. “It’s gone,” he said. “They can’t see it no more. I’ve done it.”{663}
But a week later, news reports had his family and friends gathering at Prebendal, concerned that Robin had come down with pneumonia. “They fear it may be the last time they’ll see Robin,” said a family friend. “His recovery and determination has been remarkable, but there’s been a turn for the worse. His body’s taken a hell of a beating. The doctors fear for him but he’s determined to battle on.”{664}
“The past two weeks have been devastating,” said another friend. “The one aim Robin had was to be at the Requiem premiere. It was his motivation, passion and goal throughout the battle against cancer. His spirit has been shattered since the pneumonia and he has gone visibly downhill. Before he slipped into a coma he was struggling to get out of bed without a wheelchair.”{665}
On April 10, 2012, The Titanic Requiem debuted live, performed by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Robin was too ill to attend. “The day before the concert it suddenly struck me that, instead of singing the beautiful song ‘Don’t Cry Alone’ that evening,” Dwina said, “Robin was in a coma and might die. I suddenly thought, ‘If he never comes out of the coma, I will never hear his voice again.’ Many nights we’ve been together as a couple, I’ve woken to hear him composing on the keyboards in the next room, singing like an angel. I couldn’t bear it if his beautiful voice was silenced forever. We all had to accept that Robin couldn’t go to the premiere. We all realised that the show had to go on without him. I stayed with him in the hospital until the last minute, because I really didn’t want to leave him. The audience at the concert stood and cheered, but I couldn’t help breaking down. I pulled myself together and told myself that Robin would survive. I am forever grateful that RJ has been at my side throughout this ordeal. RJ had made sure the premiere was filmed—we all passionately believed that one day Robin would watch it.”{666}
On April 8, Robin went into a coma. The cause was pneumonia, but his doctors feared the presence of another tumor. “His family are taking it hour by hour,” said a family friend, “and praying for a miracle. But with Robin they know never to give up.”{667} “Barry sang a song he had composed for Robin,” Dwina said. “We played him Bee Gees music—and each time we did, tears began trickling down his cheeks. As we played him ‘I Started a Joke,’ he opened his mouth on cue to sing. The doctors know relatives of coma patients are always looking for hopeful signs. They told me it could be an automatic response. But it seemed too much of a coincidence that Robin opened his mouth at the exact point in the song when he would have started singing. We persuaded them to let us test my theory by attaching electrodes to Robin’s brain and monitoring his reactions to the music.”{668}
After being unconscious for two weeks, Robin emerged from his coma on April 21. The first thing he said upon awakening was: “Hello, RJ.” “The doctors asked Robin,” Dwina said, “if he wanted them to do everything in their power to save his life—or if he felt the time would come when enough was enough. He told them, ‘There w
ill never be a time when enough is enough. I want to live no matter what.’”{669} Robin told those gathered around him: “I wish Mo was here. I can’t believe he’s gone.”{670}
Robin’s doctor, Andrew Thillainayagam, said: “It is testament to Robin’s extraordinary courage, iron will and deep reserves of physical strength that he has overcome quite incredible odds to get where he is now. Only three days ago, I warned Robin’s wife, Dwina, son, Robin and brother, Barry that I feared the worst. We felt it was likely that Robin would succumb to what seemed to be insurmountable obstacles to any form of meaningful recovery. As a team, we were all concerned that we might be approaching the realms of futility. But now Robin is fully conscious, lucid and able to speak to his loved ones. He is breathing on his own, with an oxygen mask. He is on intravenous feeding and antibiotics. He is exhausted, extremely weak and malnourished. Our immediate goals are to ensure that Robin’s swallowing mechanism is safe enough to allow him to eat and drink, and that he recovers enough strength to breath effectively, without needing high levels of oxygen by mask. When this happens, we will be able to begin the process of nutritional and physical rehabilitation and may be able to move him from the intensive care unit to the ward. The road ahead for Robin remains uncertain but it is a privilege to look after such an extraordinary human being.”{671}
In late April a family friend told the press: “Robin is still weak but getting better by the day. His recovery is nothing short of a miracle. Weeks ago Dwina and the family were prepared for the worst, now they are hoping he will be home very soon.”{672}
But Robin never left the hospital. “He can’t speak at the moment because he has a tracheotomy,” Robin’s friend Jim Dooley told the press. “He has to communicate by blinking his eyes. Dwina said that because he spent so long in a coma there are a lot of things he will have to learn to do again if he comes through it. He will have to re-learn how to walk. It’s 50/50 whether he comes through this but Dwina is a wonderful woman and she is giving him all the love and TLC you can give. He is receiving prayers and blessings from every religion all over the world and I’m told there is a special blessing on the way from the Pope. The plan is to get his strength up so he can resume chemotherapy treatment for his cancer.”{673}
Robin died on May 20, 2012. He was sixty-two. Dwina, Robin-John and Robin’s children Spencer and Melissa were at Robin’s bedside. The cause of death was kidney failure.
In October, the press reported that Robin’s fortune was estimated at £93 million. Robin’s children from both marriages and Dwina would share his estate. Shortly before Robin died, he had arranged a one-time payment to Claire Yang of £5 million.
Robin was buried in Thames, Oxfordshire. A single bagpiper led his funeral cortege. Robin’s casket was borne in a white carriage pulled by four plumed, black horses. Robin’s Irish wolfhounds, Ollie and Missy, followed the cortege. Claire Yang did not attend the funeral. Dwina had said earlier that she would be “devastated” if Yang came, but would not bar her presence. Among the pallbearers were Robin’s sons, RJ and Spencer, Barry’s son Steve, and Dwina’s son, Steven Murphy. The family brought the precious gems made from Maurice’s ashes to the church to symbolically reunite the twins in the afterlife. “I Started a Joke” and “Don’t Cry Alone” were played in the church.
Barry gave a eulogy at Robin’s funeral. Speaking of their various disagreements, Barry said: “Even right up to the end we found conflict with each other, which now means nothing. It just means nothing. If there’s conflict in your lives—get rid of it. I think the greatest pain for Robin in the past ten years was losing [Maurice]. And now they’re together.”{674}
barry gibb’s first ever
solo concert
February 21, 2012: Barry Gibb is about to perform Barry Gibb’s First Ever Solo Concert.
He’s sixty-five.
The Hollywood, Florida, Seminole Hard Rock Hotel’s Hard Rock Live—part of a casino complex with a labyrinthine mall built like a Martian’s idea of an old-fashioned village—is sold out. It’s a medium-size, anonymous, multi-purpose arena, with a stratospheric ceiling, an endless flat floor filled with folding chairs, a broad stage overhung with enormous video screens, and bleachers rising high and steep on either side the length of the room. The sound system, as you’d expect in a concrete-floored, athletic arena, is soggy. But the speakers are many and gigantic; there will be volume . . .
There are over five thousand people in the hall. The tickets were not cheap. There are no empty seats. Most of the crowd is younger than Barry Gibb. The majority seem to be between forty and fifty-five. They’re all glad to be there and everyone looks excited. There are no visible ironists or hipsters. Out of the over five thousand members of the paying public, approximately seven are African American. It’s a white crowd, dressed like middle management on a night out. They’re not a great-looking bunch; there’s little glamour. These are Barry’s mainstream peeps.
The band comes onstage: two keyboard players, a conga-percussionist, a drummer behind a clear sound barrier, two guitarists, a bass player and three babe backup singers in 1980s babe backup singer outfits. The band lines the rear of the stage. To the left of the main microphone, on a tall stool, right up front, sits a lean guitar player in his late thirties, with movie star–pirate good looks, tats all up and down his arms, a tight T-shirt and a Les Paul; that’s Barry’s son Steve.
The hall goes dark, the lights go all blue, the clavinet riff from “Jive Talkin’” starts up and Barry ambles nervously into the lights in a shimmering dark green shirt and wearing a thin, red guitar. He doesn’t look bad: silvery hair to his shoulders, bit of a gut, slightly puffy face, but he moves like the back pain that tormented him in the later years of Bee Gees touring is gone. His teeth, as ever, are perfect and blindingly white.
It’s not that the place goes berserk—it does. But these are not the normal berserker whoops and screams and whistles and cheers. This is the vocal incarnation of pure love, adoration, worship. The crowd is entirely willing to go on whatever ride Barry has to offer.
Barry seems nonplussed, even shy, in the face of this heartfelt, deafening ovation. He points and waves to a few people up front and breaks into a whisper-falsetto to sing. Everyone shuts up—they want to hear what he’s got left. As the song goes on, Barry’s energy increases visibly. If he had nerves, they’re gone. Halfway through the song, he’s moving his hips and swaying side to side. This is his home; he’s been onstage since he was nine.
His band proves competent; they’re unexcitable, studio pros reading music from charts. A band for radio, as one audience member put it: a collation of not attractive, squat, middle-aged men at home with their machines and blank faced as can be. But they are tight. They rehearsed a lot. The look of the band, their cold precision and the unremarkable arrangements underscore the Las Vegas presentation.
Barry’s voice proves more than workable. He has no range or power on the falsetto; he mostly whispers. When he tries to belt on “You Should Be Dancing” his voice cracks. But Barry’s midrange is potent; he sings in full voice on the non-falsetto numbers, like “Lonely Days.” His energy never flags. Performing is invigorating him. Toward the end of the evening he’s sweating heavily and downing a small bottle of water between every song.
Barry dedicates “First of May” to his wife, Lynda. Maurice’s daughter Samantha, dressed like any other college student, strolls onstage to duet on “End of the World.” She’s unfazed by the situation and sings competently, on the level of a good wedding singer. Steve Gibb sings Maurice’s little known “On Time” in a rich baritone, and takes an extended show-offy guitar solo. He has a skilled, buzzing tone; he could be the lead player in a band opening up for country-rock arena headliners. “On Time” wasn’t the only obscurity. Barry pulls out “Every Christian Lionhearted Man Will Show You” from 1967’s Bee Gees 1st. It has a building, spellbinding psychedelic feel and clocks in at 2:59. Even Barry’s psych excursions are structured as hit singles.
&n
bsp; Barry brings up one of his backups to sing “Islands in the Stream” and “Guilty.” She’s passable, and Barry is gracious, if a little condescending, toward the end of their collaboration. How must that have felt, harmonizing in public with a stranger? What courage it must have taken to attempt those songs alone, in front of thousands who knew every word and note. How could he not have expected Robin and Maurice—and maybe even Andy—to lend their voices?
But, true to Barry’s nature, and his career of never saying what he felt or singing with genuine emotion, internal barriers remain. Even when introducing his niece or his son or urging everyone to pray for Robin, who was still alive but mortally ill, Barry never sounds quite sincere. At the most intimate moments, whether expressing thanks or saying how proud he was to have Steve onstage, Barry reverts to showbiz patter, often with one hand in his pocket, as if declaiming at the dinner table like some dull paterfamilias.
Even so, Barry’s gratification is plain from the back row—never mind on the immense close-ups filling the video screens. As the show goes on, he becomes increasingly joyous to discover that he can still do it, overjoyed that doing it gives him pleasure and overjoyed at the unalloyed love of the crowd. He is still Barry and the world is thrilled that he is.
After a “Night Fever–More Than a Woman” medley, Barry introduces “Immortality” by mentioning prayer: “I know there are people in the audience with an inclination for prayer,” he says quietly. “I know that I’m one as well.” As he speaks, images of Robin appear on the screens. Barry loses himself in singing for his brothers. He especially emphasizes the lyric “We never say goodbye.”
The Bee Gees Page 32
